


Stars

by Ardatli



Series: The Dale Cycle [4]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe – No Powers, Anal Sex, Crusaders!AU, Cuddling, Fluff, Fourth Crusade, Heather Dale, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, and yet not exactly the PWP it started out as.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William and Theodore manage to find some privacy, and make the best use they can of the time. </p><p>This is part of a series, but it’s not necessary to read what came before. Short form: William is a pilgrim, Theodore is a Crusader, they’re newly in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to feebleapb, for doing a beta-read! All errors are most assuredly mine. 
> 
> Minor trigger warning involving childbirth/stillbirth; see end notes for details. 
> 
> Inspired by ‘Stars,’ by Heather Dale.
> 
> http://mail.musicmegabox.net/track/stars-311873/
> 
> \--
> 
> It's been ages since I worked on anything that wasn't related to either my auction fic or the Young Avengers big bang, so I decided to take a bit of a break from avoiding my RBB edits and do something light for the Dale Cycle. It didn't turn out quite like the PWP I'd originally planned, but as a slice of life thing I think it works. As always, notes at the end!

_So to those of low bearing, and those born to fly,_

_To those who sweat, sing and sail under the sky_

_As we're born and we love, we grow old and we die_

_Watch impassive, eternal, the stars._

**February 1202, Winter camp,  the south of France:**

The wind howled in outrage outside the shuttered windows, but inside the rough-hewn wood building, the inn-room itself was warm. A fire burned low in the chimney, the glowing embers the only light cast upon William’s fair skin. His knuckles turned white as he grabbed at the bedclothes beneath him, his back gleaming with a sweaty sheen. Theodore rolled his hips, his arms trembling with the strain of holding himself up, and he pushed into that tight heat again. His passage was eased by the oil that still slicked his fingers, this new pleasure only possible thanks to the privacy of their locked door and private room. William cried out, turning his head to muffle the sound with the down pillow beneath him.

Theodore pressed deep, the sensation hot and snug down the length of his prick, a drag of motion so slow and torturous that his skin felt close to splitting open. Sweat stung at the back of his knees, his thighs burning with the exertion of holding himself up. Every stroke added to the pressure building deep inside him, the pleasure and anticipation coiling inside his balls and the base of his spine. Will had opened for him so easily, once they had figured out what needed to be done. He was slick-hot and so tight that it was almost inhuman, and he made soft little sounds as Theodore hitched his hips and knitted them back together.

Will’s heartbeat pulsed through Theodore’s skin. He could see it, bird-rapid and strong, at the base of his throat. Theodore leaned down as Will arched his neck back. He bit at the column of skin, strained and turned to catch Will’s mouth in a sloppy and inelegant kiss. He was poor with words at the best of times; now, forming thoughts was all but impossible. If he _had_ to name this feeling, though, the closest he could get would be ‘coming home.’

He would do this forever if he could, just this: pressing himself deep inside Will, feeling his body clench and tremble and shake apart beneath him – muscle aches and the growing, desperate desire within his gut be damned.

The kiss wasn’t enough, as frantic as it was, and Theodore pulled away, breathless and gasping. “I need to see your face.”

Will protested when he pulled out, and it took only a light slap to the flank for Will to roll over for him. His face had flushed red, a blush which extended down his chest, and he sprawled across the straw-tick mattress, sweaty and wanton.

“Come on,” Will said even as Theodore stared down at him, memorizing everything; from the way his cock strained, red and gleaming against his stomach, to the fan of his dark hair against the pillow and the lush, sensual curve of his red-bitten lips. “You’re being cruel,” Will complained, hitching his hips up against the air.

The opportunity had been an aberration: a storm rising without warning while they were seeking sources for supplies, an inn with a room just off the road when no-one would question their choice to seek shelter. They had the chance, this time, for so much more than they had been grudgingly accepting; stolen kisses in the forest, hasty fumbling with hose points and tunics in the faint hours of the morning, mouths and frantic rutting and William’s long, slim fingers stroking him as he bit back the noises in the flesh of his own arm.

Here, now, the inn half-empty and the door bolted fast, the entire night stretching out before them, they could afford to explore and play, find the secret places of each other’s bodies and the touches that wrung out gasps and moans in equal measure.

It was a stolen night, and there was no promise that such a time would – could – ever come again.

“I’m savouring the moment,” Theodore corrected him, sitting back and taking his place between Will’s thighs. “Have patience.” He leaned in to murmur soft against Will’s mouth, kissing him again, and again. Will rocked up against him, took Theodore’s aching cock in his hand and _stroked_ , and all thoughts of taking his time immediately fled. The world shrank to the sensation of rough skin on skin, Will’s hand dragging his foreskin up and over, then down again, desperately maddening and not quite as good as the tightness of his body. Will laughed with satisfaction and dropped his hand to line them up again, his fist still tight around the crown of Theodore’s prick.

“What was that about patience?” Will mocked him then gasped, as he thrust sharply home again.  Will’s body took him in as though they had never been apart. This was not as simple as it had been before, though, the angle strange, and Theodore sat back a little on his heels to give his shoulders some relief. He pulled Will with him, settling his hips into Theodore’s lap, cock wet-tipped and straining.

It would be easier if he had more room to move. Theodore pulled one hand free, used it to press Will’s thigh up so that he could brace it on Theodore’s shoulder. Would this work? If it hurt him- Theodore rocked his hips to find out, and by all that was holy that was _good_ , as Will’s body took him in, took him deeper, consumed him down to the root and the core of himself.

Will keened, clutched at his thighs, his hands, then laced his fingers between Theodore’s and hung on tightly. Theodore stopped moving, frozen in place as Will’s body slowly relaxed around him. “That,” Will gasped, after a moment more. “Do that again.”

Theodore rolled his hips and thrust in, strong and fierce, gripping Will’s hand so that he wouldn’t splinter, shatter, fly away. Will’s back arched, his head tipped against the pillow. His eyes glazed and his body bowed up to meet him with a renewed and fervent desperation. “Please,” he begged, and Theodore could not remember hearing him do that before. Maybe once, that first night, when everything had been so fraught and filled with danger, but this was altogether new and beautiful.

“Please!” Will begged again. Theodore thrust home, their fingers intertwined and a the red flush staining Will’s body. His nipples peaked, high and tight. Theodore bent to scrub his mouth across them, the prickles of his unshaven face scraping against Will’s skin. His tongue caught on the nub, felt the scratch of the dark hairs that surrounded it. He closed his lips and sucked, Will’s cock riding up against his belly.

The cries spilled from Will’s lips, fervent, needy and finally triumphant. He spilled hot between their stomachs, his leg crooked now over Theodore’s arm, knee to elbow, his body falling limp.

It was permission to take his own pleasure, to press deep into the secret places of William’s body, so much tighter than hands or lips could manage. He pressed his mouth to the inside of William’s knee, the soft untouched place that tasted of sweat and musk and the faintest hint of wool. Will held his hand tightly, urged him onward with tight rolls of his hips and a foot at the small of Theodore’s back. He bit down, sucked hard at the skin between his teeth, making marks for himself alone that William’s clothes would always hide.

He was falling, out of control and body on fire, his toes curling and balls drawing taut and up into his body. No force in this world or the next could stop him, and with a rush and a cry he spent himself inside Will. His head dropped back and his mouth fell open as he trembled and shook. He trembled as shocks fired from the base of his spine through to split his head entirely open.

He was going to die. Or perhaps he had already died, pulling free from Will’s body and falling to the mattress beside him, because to feel this way was utterly impossible. Surely no-one else had ever, in the entire realm of man’s experience, felt pleasure such as this.

Because if they did, why did anyone ever get out of bed?

Would it be like this, if they could take their ease every time? If they could lie together, touch and kiss, stoke the fires that burned inside with tender care? Stealing precious minutes to slake his desperate and growing hunger for Will’s touch was better than not having him at all, but _this_ – this was magic.

He was in grave danger. He curled around Will’s naked body and pressed his face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Will’s hair was damp and curling at the ends, he smelled of sex, and the rapid beating of his heart was only just beginning to slow. Theodore’s chest ached, deep inside, something deeper and more permanent than the soreness in his arms, back and legs.

It was dangerous, because this was not life. The weather would clear, the roads would dry, and in the spring the army would move again. After Venice, William and Thomas would continue east on their pilgrimage. Theodore’s destiny lay across the sea with his men, southward, to Egypt. Once they parted, they would never meet again.

A small voice inside persisted in reminding him that it was for the best. He could not, _would_ not believe that, but still the voice remained.

Will’s hands moved over him, stroking across his bare skin with feather-light touches. It was a gesture of comfort only, not aimed at arousing him again, and there would be nothing better in the world than lying here and drinking him in, nuzzling further into the curve of his throat. Let the world pass them both by. Maybe they would not be missed.  

He rose instead, ignoring Will’s indignant protest. Water spilled cool and fresh across his fingers as he filled the basin from the jug, and dampened a cloth. Washing helped clear his mind, the rote activity chasing away the intrusive thoughts of future doom. They had at least a few more hours until sunrise, and if he wasted precious time worrying about things he couldn’t change, he would spend the rest of his life regretting it.

Will hadn’t moved except to turn his head to watch, and he reached out to run his hand down Theodore’s side when he rejoined him on the bed. It was new, seeing him so relaxed, free from the fear of discovery. He was a mass of roiling tension most days, a pot on a slow boil, little bubbles of dread and nerves constantly breaking the surface.

Not tonight, though, as Theodore drew the cloth down his body, following the shadows and curves his mouth had tracked before. No, tonight Will was more like the cats that lurked about the stables back home; languid and lean, stretching every muscle in turn. He might as well be purring, given the satisfaction in his smile. He was moments away from curling up in a sunbeam to wash his paws.   
  
The image made him laugh, and he hid the smile from William's sudden and curious look.

“What?” Will asked, and frowned when Theodore shook his head. He flinched a second later, when Theodore passed the cloth between his legs.

_Damnation!_

That was Theodore’s fault: his loss of control, doing things that men weren’t meant to do, and now he had caused harm where he had never meant anything but lov-

But _desire._

“I hurt you,” Theodore said, jerking his hand away quickly.

“No,” Will half-sat and grabbed his wrist, pressing his fingers against Theodore’s pulse with reassuring pressure. “No,” he repeated more calmly, his thumb stroking the skin of Theodore’s inner arm. “There’s no harm done.” He grimaced as he sat up fully, but stretched again and then the grimace faded.

“I’ll feel it tomorrow,” Will grinned wickedly, and the painful knot inside Theodore began to loosen, if only slightly. “And it’s a good thing I walk rather than ride, for I can’t imagine sitting a horse at the moment. Again, I mean.” Theodore’s face flushed hot with embarrassment, and the rest of the tangle unwound. “But it was good. We are good together, and I regret nothing.” That last declaration was made so earnestly, his eyes locked on Theodore’s face so closely, that he could do nothing in response except believe him.

He tangled his fingers in Will’s dark hair, canted his head in to meet him. He pressed their mouths together in what he hoped Will would understand as his own declaration.

Will kissed him back and stole the cloth, and a short while later they tumbled back into the sweat-damp bedclothes to curl around each other in the near-dark. The fire was only glowing embers now, but the room was warm. Everything about Will warmed him, especially this, skin to skin, touching at every point from their toes to their shoulders, Will’s head resting on his chest and fingers tracing lazy circles through the fine hair below his navel. He was well content.

The conversation drifted as easily as Will’s persistent touch, wandering through the events of the past months, avoiding discussions of the future, settling on talk of homes and families left far behind in distant days.

“Who was he?” Theodore asked impulsively, tracing the notches of William’s spine. His stomach tightened oddly at the thought, some other man touching Will, tasting his lips, learning the feel of his skin. But the vague and slightly disinterested fondness in Will’s expression was nothing compared to the heat with which he normally regarded Theodore. This mystery lover was no threat.

Will pressed a kiss to Theodore’s chest, laced the fingers of their free hands together. “Ephraim; his father was the local butcher. He used the name James to Englishmen,” Will mentioned in an off-handed manner, and Theodore marked it with a frown and a half-formed question in his mind. “We were boys, really, and curious, pretending that we knew what we were doing.”

“What happened to him?” An image popped to mind, unbidden; a strapping young man from William’s homeland, their families known to each other, speaking the same languages and followers of the same faith- even if they could not be together, it had to be easier than... whatever this was that he and Theodore were doing.

Will only shrugged diffidently, and Theodore felt the movement more than saw it. “He married a girl from York, a year or two before Thomas and I left England. He went north to live there, and manage her father’s business interests. I presume he’s still there. My brother Jacob married one of his cousins.”

That was better; the faint possessive rumble in the back of Theodore’s mind died down, mollified. He should be more embarrassed by that than he was. He had no claim on Will, not by law or fealty or any moral code, for they had placed themselves outside them all.

He had no rights at all, except that which whispered in his heart. _Take, have, keep. Mine._

He was in deep trouble.

Will shifted his weight on top of him, curled his hand, warm and strong, around Theodore’s hip.

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Three,” Will replied quietly. “That is, two still living. Thomas – and Jacob. I _had_ three, but Aaron died of the plague, three summers ago.” It was hardly an unusual story; it would be more unusual to find someone who had never lost a family member to illness or injury gone bad. Even still, he wanted to wrap Will up even closer in his arms and kiss that note of grief out of his voice.

“That was when-“ Will hesitated, then pressed on. “That was the first time something happened. I was sitting by his bedside, and I _wanted_ him to live. I _wanted_ so badly, and my hands began to glow-“ Theodore held his breath, listening. He had seen it first-hand, knew the heat and sort of boiling sensation deep inside that came with William’s miracles. The thick scar on his thigh throbbed in sympathy. “It didn’t work.”  

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it didn’t work.” The frustration and the pain were thick in Will’s reply, and Theodore curled a leg over Will’s hip, pulled him in so that he was being held closely everywhere that Theodore could reach. “I tried four times to cure him, and each time it seemed to help, for a day, a little less. But Aaron died anyway. He coughed blood and the fever burned him, and he died. And then I saw the fear in my parents’ eyes. Our Rabbi – our sage – he called it a gift, but how could it be, when I couldn’t fix the one thing that mattered most?”

Theodore held him, ignored the new wetness on his chest at about the level of William’s eyes. “And that is when you left?”

“I had to – I _have_ to – find a way to control it. That, or be rid of it entirely. What good is a ‘gift’ that I can’t use reliably, and that made my family fear me? Jacob avoids me, and my parents stopped being able to look me in the eye.”

“Thomas must love you a great deal, to follow you across the world.” There was little love lost between Thomas and Theodore, but it was obvious to anyone who saw them together that the brothers were desperately close.  
  
William paused, however, as though that were something he had never considered. “Thomas hates stagnation,” he replied after a minute. “He loathes the notion of being tied to one place. He would die if he did not keep moving. My plans gave him an excuse.”  
  
“I think you underestimate his devotion.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded less than convinced, and truly, he needed shaking, because he was being willfully blind. If Theodore had had a brother like that – or any brother at all, really – perhaps things would have been different.

Will seemed to pick up on his thoughts, that or wished to deflect attention, because the next thing he said was a question directed back at Theodore. “You know so much about siblings,” he started lightly, but there was something forced about his cheer. “How many do you have?”

“None,” Theodore had to admit. “I might have had a sister,” he started, and his voice caught.

_The midwives in the sickroom, the red drapes pulled and drawn white faces on all inside. The smell of blood, thick and cloying, servants running past with baskets of soiled sheets, red on white that no lye could erase. Silence that should have been broken by a high-pitched cry, and that never, ever would be again._

“She and my mother died in the birthing.” Will’s intake of breath was telling, and now it was his turn to cling, to wrap both arms and legs around Theodore and hold him, warm weight pressing down on him, solid, firm and real. Theodore took a deep breath. The close, warm air filled him, and William’s arms buoyed him, until he had the strength to continue. “My father was already away on crusade when it happened. I don’t know if he ever received the news, because he never came home. They say he died in Acre.”

_The sword heavy in his hands, the loose leather belt dangling low enough to touch the floor. His arms ached and still he stood, waiting, until Father had been ready to strap it on._

_Protect them, mein Sohn. Heed your lessons from Methengau, and hold the faith until I return._

_I will, sir. I swear it._

His words fell into silence, marked only by Will’s steady breathing and the necessary weight of him on Theodore’s chest. Will’s lips were soft and tender when he pressed chaste kisses to Theodore’s collarbone. “I was fifteen when I buried them, still only a squire. I couldn’t manage on my own. I swore my fealty to Gregory’s father, and he has been my family since.”

“That’s why you follow him?” Will asked after a pause that dragged on. “Because his family gave you shelter?”

“More than that,” Theodore said. “He gives me a place, and a company, and a purpose. Without something to believe in, what are we, in the end?” He was pleading for something, he realized belatedly. Begging for Will to understand, or absolve him from some mysterious misdeed that he couldn’t name. “He has promised me lands, when we return,” he finished softly. “In reward for my service.”

Will lifted his head and reclaimed his hands. He clasped them in front of him across Theodore’s chest and rested his chin there on top of them. Theodore let his legs fall apart and William fit himself between them without comment or question. He smiled up at Theodore, a quirk of the corners of his mouth that made Theodore want to kiss them away. “Will he make you a Lord?” Will was teasing, and his eyes smiled too. “Grant you titles and knights of your own?”

“Nothing so dramatic.” Theodore paused then, the uncertainty becoming overwhelming. What he had to say could infuriate Will, could anger him. Or perhaps worse, he might take it as unimportant, because he too saw no future of any kind in their embraces.

“There is a girl he intends for me,” he admitted after the pause had continued too long.

Will’s face turned utterly blank.

“Her name is Caroline. Her family is powerful, and she has no brothers. Her father means to settle a large dowry on her, and whoever she marries will inherit valuable lands on Gregory’s eastern border.” It had been no surprise at all when Gregory had approached him with the information. Theodore was not entirely unaware of his appearance and his reputation, both as a good leader and a godly man, however incorrect and ill-deserved that latter might be.

He wasn’t vain enough to think that it mattered, in the grand scheme of the world. It did mean that Gregory was more likely to offer him up as a pawn in a marital scheme than, say, Barnabas.

He really should have anticipated the entire thing from the moment the Lord of Majesdane had appeared in Methengau’s court.

William was studying his own fingernails with focussed intent. “Do you like her?” he asked after a minute had passed, his voice carefully neutral.

“I've only met her once. Her father brought her to court before Gregory suggested the arrangement.” He tried to summon up her face in his mind’s eye. Caroline had been pretty, he supposed, for a girl of seventeen. Fair hair and eyes, slim and young. She had seemed as underwhelmed by her father’s proposal as Theodore had been surprised by Gregory’s, but she had conversed with quiet grace.

He had no notion of how she had reacted to the suggestion of a formal betrothal after that; neither she nor her father had returned to court before the call to arms had come to the north. “She is pleasant enough. She didn’t run and scream upon seeing my face, which I suppose bodes well,” he joked, but Will did not smile.

“You don’t take this seriously enough,” he complained, and Theodore fell silent. Will’s face grew dark, brows lowered and his mouth set in a thin and angry line. “Let Gregory marry her himself if he wants an alliance, instead of using you as some kind of studding horse.”

It wasn’t a new thought; Theodore had harboured it himself enough times. However- “He has his eye on a higher prize.” He let the sigh move through him and out, the disappointment and other un-named things settling around his heart again.

“But you don’t _know_ her, and-“ Will gestured between the two of them in wordless outrage. “You cannot love her,” he stated firmly. “You _won’t._ ”

He was not wrong.

Theodore turned them in a swift and sudden move, lifting Will and laying him down on his back again. He kissed him with fierce intent, slipped his tongue between Will’s lips and sucked on the bottom one, let his hands fall to rest at his hips. “Not like this, no,” he agreed. “Nothing else will ever be like this.” He pressed firm kisses down Will’s chest, then settled to lie between his legs with his head cushioned on the faint softness of Will’s belly.

“But marriage for me was never going to be about love; I've known that all my life.” His parents had been strangers to each other and a political match, the union of warring households to create a front against a third. Even so, by the time he had been old enough to understand, they had been gentle and kind with each other, affectionate, respectful, perhaps even loving.

He had seen his father press his hand to his mother’s cheek and linger there, simply looking at her. She had been beautiful, his mother, and she had risen up on her toes to lay a kiss against his mouth.

If that was not love, then what _had_ it been?

Will made a small and distressed sort of sound deep in his throat. Theodore hugged him close, tightened his fingers around Will’s hip. “Whether it is Caroline, or someone else, in the end it doesn’t matter. Neither of us will have much choice. But if she and I can find a place of mutual respect, maybe even affection...” he trailed off.

“It does not have to be a bad life, Will. Not if I had you with me as well.” He pressed his face into the shadow of Will’s side, tasted his skin and scraped his teeth against the cut of his hip.  The thought triggered another and he gave voice to them without filter. “Come back with me.” It was an impulsive offer, but it could be done. It would mean lying, but Caroline could be under no illusions; their marriage would be a political and financial alliance, with few other expectations. It could _work_.

“Join my household,” Theodore pressed, lifting himself up on his forearms and meeting William’s eyes. “The men already call you my shadow, and name you my confessor; no-one will question it if I take you into my retinue. It's all but expected now.” 

Will pulled back from him, the frown that crossed his face the total opposite of the expression of joy that Theodore had anticipated from his request. What had he said? This was a way they could be together, which is what Will had seemed to want-

“And watch you with your lady on your arm, while she shares your bed and bears your children? Even I am not that set on self-destruction,” Will said. His voice whipped out to cut Theodore like a blade, all sharp edges and disdain.

 “What would you have me do?” he cut back without taking the time to think it over. “I cannot marry you instead.” The flash of anger faded into resignation as soon as he gave it voice. Will flinched, though, shifted beneath him, and he couldn’t be allowed to leave the bed, not before Theodore had made things right again.

Theodore rolled, pressed his mouth against Will’s stomach, leaned his weight onto him to keep him in place. He breathed in deeply and let the ill humour out with it. “Can you imagine what the children would look like?”

The half-repressed snort of laughter from above suggested that he had been forgiven, as did the hand that slipped into his hair. Will’s voice was wistful when he spoke again, his thumb rubbing lazy circles behind Theodore’s ear. “Run away with me, then. Leave them all behind.”

Theodore propped himself up on his elbows, stared down the length of William’s body. “You know I can do no such thing. I am in fealty to Gregory; we’ve sworn vows to see the Crusade through. He’ll not release me from them.”

“Then after your battles are won.” A shadow crossed Will’s face, then, but he said nothing directly. “If Thomas and I came with you to Egypt,” he said instead, his voice thoughtful.

“I have been talking to the learned men among the French contingent; there is a sage in Fostat, one of my people. He is a royal physician to the sultan and his court. He might have more wisdom for me than even the shrine maiden, who, after all, is only legend.” He picked up speed as he spoke, his hand leaving Theodore’s hair to gesture in the air. “I could go to him and study; a year, perhaps two, learn all there is to know about my... situation, and the secrets of his curatives and potions. Thomas can find himself an heiress from among the Karaites, and then when your battles are done, you come for us.”

He believed the possibility in what he was saying, and that relieved some of the ache of regret. Theodore lay down again, his head on William’s stomach, and stroked his hand down the slack and relaxed muscles of William’s arm and shoulder. “And what then do I say to Caroline and her father?” he asked. “Or shall we pretend our own deaths and change our names to boot?”

“Have yourself a conversion experience,” Will said, a bite to his tone along with the growing roll of humour. “Say that you have taken vows of celibacy, in order to devote yourself to good works. It happens to pilgrims sometimes; no-one will question it. Then,” he continued, shifting on to his side and dumping Theodore unceremoniously off and onto the bed beside him. He shuffled down a little so that they were almost eye to eye again, his brown eyes wide and earnest. “Gregory will have to find someone else to make his tool; he has no shortage of followers eager to do his bidding. And you and I – and Thomas, if he wishes – can make a life away from him.”

“Fine,” Theodore agreed, mostly out of curiosity as to where this plan was directed. He smiled and William returned it. “Then what should we do for money? Even runaways must eat, and for that we will need coin. I am no farmer, nor herdsman, to wring milk from goats and wheat from dirt.”

William’s eyes flashed something sad and deep and dark, and it would be easier to hold him and promise all the things he could never mean, and kiss him back into joy. Will should always look joyful; it made his already-magnetic features light up with something radiant and utterly unworldly. But when he spoke it was with laughter in it, and Theodore’s regrets faded away again. “You will enter tournaments, of course,” Will teased him, tangling their fingers together once more. “And take all the prizes. Thomas’ sons will be your equerries and ride in your train. You will best William the Marshal’s record, and kings across the known world will vie for the right to give you lands and titles for your glory.”

“And you?” Theodore said, squeezing Will’s hand. Giddiness took over him and he could not resist poking. “What will you do? Be my inspiration in the galleries and tie a ribbon about my arm? Will you wear a gown in my colours? I’m not certain that green would suit you.”

Will snorted and kicked him not-so-gently in the shin. “I will study, as I have said. Medicines and curatives, so I can heal without miracles. I will learn the chirurgeon’s trade and grow gardens full of herbs, all to keep you hale and hearty.” He was distant, then, looking off into a future that only he could see. Theodore stroked the side of Will’s hand with his thumb, caressed the wind-roughened skin.

“In case you have not noticed, we are two men together,” Theodore said, and the arched and disbelieving eyebrow he received in response was worth the joke. “Who shall inherit all this bounty when we are gone from this world?”

Will shrugged expansively. “Thomas’ future sons, your favourite squire, some adopted cousin’s daughter’s nephew, I care not. Only that I get to live out my days with you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his adam’s apple moving below the dark edge of his close-trimmed beard. His mouth clamped shut, his lips narrowed and thin with how fiercely he was pressing them together.

The world expanded and contracted at once while the stars in the heavens above them wheeled steady in their courses. Air pained his lungs when he breathed in and they tried to swell against the lump in the middle of his chest.

Unable to breathe, unable to speak, he tipped his head instead and pressed his mouth to Will’s. William breathed for him, sweetness filling him up from the inside out.

If this was danger and madness, then he would embrace it. He could do nothing else.

They had been resting and talking a while; long enough, it seemed, for desire to stir in him again at the press of William’s naked skin. He rubbed his thumb across Will’s cheek, caught the edge of his lip with the pad. “It is a beautiful, impossible dream, Will.”

Will’s mouth opened just enough to take him in and roll his tongue across the top of Theodore’s thumb. His eyes drooped, heavy-lidded, and he made a soft needy sound when Theodore pulled his hand away again. Will’s hand had been halfway down his body and heading for his prick before he changed direction and settled it on Theodore’s leg instead. His deft fingers danced along the pink scar that sliced down Theodore’s thigh, then settled as he pressed his palm down over the mark. “You haven’t been paying attention,” Will said chidingly. “When we are together, _everything_ is possible.”

He was an optimist inside, despite his regular grumbling and moaning about the state of the world. Theodore smiled against Will’s mouth now that he knew his secret. Will didn’t protest when Theodore set his hands against his hips, pressed him back against the mattress. They were all at angles across the bed, the bedclothes a tangled, sweaty mess. He noted and dismissed the idea of moving; not when Will was right there beside him.

He kissed down the hollows and curves of Will’s body instead, laid marks along his side – except where Will convulsed in laughter, ticklish – then fastened his mouth over Will’s prick. He was flushed but not yet hard, and there was something beautiful about the way it lay against his thigh. The cut shape of it was not a new thing anymore, but it was still different and a little bit exciting, the way it made Will look partly aroused even when he was not.

Soft like this, Theodore could take him in entirely. He sank down, pressed his nose into the tangle of wiry curls at the base, darted his tongue out as far as he could to flick at Will’s balls. He pulled off and sank down again, drew him deep to taste Will on the back of his tongue. Will was groaning and he had started to thicken and to fill, hard and hot and willing. Theodore wrapped his hand around the base to stroke what his mouth could not encompass, his own saliva mingling with Will’s pre-come to make everything slick and smooth.

Will’s hands buried themselves in Theodore’s hair, his hips rocked up against Theodore’s hand, and he splayed his palm across Will’s hip and thigh to get more control. Will gave way to him, thrusting up into Theodore’s fist and his mouth, silk-soft skin over a bar of burning steel. His own desire boiled hot in his blood, his nose was filled with the smell of musk and sex and _William_. Theodore cried out, though it was William’s pleasure he was taking; William answered him in gasps and panting breaths, in fingers pulling at his hair, stroking his cheeks and chin and the place where his cock slid between Theodore’s lips.

The wind died down, the storm over. The world slumbered outside in ignorance, and in silence.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a flashback mention of stillbirth/maternal death in childbirth. The scene is a three-sentence, mildly graphic description of blood evidence, from the point of view of an observer who doesn’t enter the room.
> 
> \--
> 
> The ‘sage’ William mentions was Maimonedes (The Rambam), a Jewish scholar whose legal arguments set the basis for a huge amount of current Jewish practice. Unfortunately for Will’s grand plans, The Rambam died in 1202. 
> 
> \--
> 
> The Karaites are a Jewish sect that were numerous in Egypt during the reign of the Fatimid Caliphate, and are still present in the Middle East today. Maimonedes himself was not a Karaite, but they were the dominant population there at the time and a group that William might have heard of. 
> 
> \--
> 
> The medieval tournament circuit on the European continent was something like the car racing circuit of the modern day. Meets were sponsored by powerful families, news would be spread by letter and by town crier, and knights would travel singly or in groups to the designated location. The tournament would generally involve individual games (tilting at rings, and so forth) to demonstrate skill, move to jousts and paired combat, and end with vast group battles that could include upward of a hundred armed combatants. 
> 
> Prizes, which could range from jewellery to bags of coins, were awarded by the hosts to those who made the best showing. Money could also be earned by capturing opponents, who would then be forced to pay ransoms – often quite high ones – for the return of their armour and weapons (and sometimes their horses). Some fighters made careers out of tournaments, travelling from one to the next to earn prize money and boost their reputations. A reputation as one of the better fighters could earn a knight a wealthy patron, who would support the knight and his household financially in return for the prestige of association.


End file.
